everything fifty years after it happened, 'let me introduce you to Professor Pollinger.' xv
Peter Pascoe lay in the dark and felt its weight press upon him.
Peine forte et dure… Who was it said, 'More weight?'… And had it been in defiance or merely a plea to hasten a certain end?
Idiot! he told himself. Over the top as usual. What cause have I for despair? There are those out there with nothing but darkness between them and the sky… soldiers and poor unable to rejoice… the lost, the dispossessed… while I lie here with a wife and daughter I love…
… with a wife and daughter who love me – o Alice Ada the thought of you should give me strength to fight – why is it the thought of you brings me to the brink of hopelessness?
Because I cant believe this is for you – not any of it – how can this filth this foulness this blood these broken bones and scattered limbs these lice these rats this helpless hopeless heedless hell have anything to do with you? What is it these horrors protect you from? – Some baby-butchering Hun on a poster? – Ive seen him this monster – Ive seen him dead and Ive seen him alive – and dead he lies there like my own mates – same gore oozing from same mangled limbs – same disbelief in same uncomprehending eyes.
And alive he looks like a lost boy terrified the hand I offer with a fag will turn into a fist – and when he starts to believe my kindness he reaches in his tunic and shows me pictures of his Alice his Ada.
Is this the monster Im protecting you from? Am I the monster hes protecting his family from? I dont know – there must be a reason and if not this then what?
Peter Pascoe rolled out of bed and tiptoed from the room.
Sleep wasn't going to come tonight. He'd known it from the moment Studholme had told him the truth. The major, so reluctant at first to reveal what he knew, once that barrier was over, seemed ready to sit and talk forever. Pascoe's instinct, fine-honed on years of interrogation, knew there was more to come, a lot of questions still to answer. But not now, not now. All he wanted was to be alone in the afterwrack of this bombshell. He'd almost pushed Studholme out of the house, then poured himself a Dalzielesque Scotch and roamed restless, ending up in the garden, feeling the need for space and distance and the cloudy indifference of the sky.
Cold had driven him back in where he found his wanderings had disturbed Rosie. With a huge effort he had put a lid on his emotional turmoil so that it wouldn't overflow and be detectable by the child. A favourite story had soothed her fret and when sleep had finally relaxed those already unflawed lineaments to the breath-catching freshness of the very first spring, he had looked down on her, then closed his own eyes and imagined never seeing her again.
He opened his eyes. She was still there. He had sat by her bedside till he heard the car in the drive and knew that Ellie had returned.
They drank coffee together while she told him with delight of Dalziel's presence at the party and the speculations it aroused. Pascoe had responded dully to both gossip and news and finally headed for bed, pleading his early start and long drive. He wanted to talk to Ellie, but not till he felt he had something rational, something coherent, to say. There were dark places inside his mind that he didn't feel able to share, not yet, not perhaps ever. Once when he was younger he'd have said that love was about openness, about the utter nakedness each to each of two bodies and minds and souls. But not now
… not now… not now…
… I had thought to tell Alice all of this when I was home on leave but I found I couldnt – theres been something called the Battle of Arras which all the papers had written up as a famous victory – and thats what Id been fighting in I discovered – thats where Duggie Granger and Kit Bagley and Micky Sidebottom and God knows how many more tens of thousands made the supreme sacrifice which is how they talk about having your guts blown out or your brains sieved through your tin hat back in Blighty. So how could I tell Alice or anyone about that? – Or when I read about our glorious allies how could I tell them what an officers servant on the leave boat told me hed heard – that the Frogs to our east had had it even worse than us and had chucked away their guns and said they wouldnt fight any more – and that whole troops were being marched out and shot by their fellow countrymen as mutineers.
What we could talk about because all the papers were still talking about it was the revolution in Russia. When I called on Mr Cartwright at the Institute he told me he reckoned it ud mean Russia would be out of the war in no time and this was the chance for workers all over Europe to unite and force their governments to follow suit. There was a big national Convention that week at the Coliseum Cinema in Leeds and he invited me to go along – which I did even though Alice told me to take care as I knew how Mr Grindal hated such meetings. I said – Whats Mr Grindal to me now? – and went anyway. It was very exciting with Mr Snowden making a fine speech and I even said something myself – when this woman who was what they call a suffragette said that of course she wanted peace but we must make sure all the noble sacrifices made by our brave boys had not been in vain – and I jumped up and shouted that if shed seen what Id seen – the bodies of my friends blown to pieces for a hundred yards of wasted ground – shed know it had all been in vain already. Some people cheered but a lot didnt and there was one little bunch of fellows in uniform who set up a chant of traitor which knocked me back till I got a closer look and realized they were all new recruits just out of training camp. One of them I recognized – Archie Doyle – my old enemy from Grindals – wearing the lily and the rose – so I worked my way round to him and said – Nice to see you Archie – when are you joining the battalion – and he gave a sick grin and said he were off in two days – and I said -I look forward to that Archie.
Next day when I called at mill I asked about Archie – and got told that spite of all his hard talk hed hidden behind his wifes skirts till theyd brought in full conscription last year – and even after that by pleading his wife being sick and by running around after Mr Grindal whos on our local Board hed put it off till now. I dont like him much but I thought – poor bastard – youd have been better off sticking your hand in a loom!
Not that theres many looms left to stick anything in! Its all changed – not just that its all old men and lasses now – Id expected that – but its mainly hospital stuff theyre making – dressings and slings and all sorts of medical things – and Uncle George told me that once the gaffer had got it in his head there was more profit in Mr Sams line of business over the river hed not hesitated but started ripping out the old looms and fetching in new machinery as fast as he could manage it. Naturally we talked about Stephen too and I told him he were fit and well – but when I mentioned Mary his face went hard and he said hed have kicked her out long since if it hadn't been for the little lad – then he begged me not to say owt of this to Steve – it must be bad enough having to go through what we went through without worrying about what your wife were up to. I said naturally I wouldnt say a word then Mr Grindal who mustve heard I was there sent down for me to call in at his office.
He met me at the door looking hard and thrawn as ever – and said right off – I hear thas been making a fool of thyself in Leeds last night. I said – I told the truth if thats what tha means. Truth? he sneers. What truth? – The same truth as is keeping all them down there on your mill floor busy – I said. That took him back and he said – Well I dont suppose one more fool ud be noticed in that crowd at the Coliseum. Step inside – someone here for you to meet.
I went through the door and found myself looking at an officer – so straight off I snapped to attention and threw a salute. Back it came but with a big grin – then he said – There Father didnt I tell you that Peter would make a fine soldier – and then I recognized him – young Gertie Grindal looking like he were dressed for CO's parade in the uniform of a Wyfie subaltern. What a lily he looked with his boots glistening like piston oil, his gloves as yellow as butter, and the pips on his shoulders standing out like Johnny Cadgers boils. Id not seen him since that last summer afore the war when hed been fifteen and his dad had set him on at the mill in his school holiday – partly to learn job – partly as punishment for bad reports from his posh school. Id taken care of him – and soon learned he were still as nesh as when a nipper and hed dragged after me round the woods – always coming on like Jack the Lad when the sun were on his back but running for cover at first sign of rain. In the house with his mam – or mine – around he knew he was master. But things were different out in the woods. There I was in charge and I could get my own back any time I liked – like the time I showed him the old ice house and told him it were where the Great White Worm lived – then I yelled – Look out its coming! – and ran off leaving him alone. He cried so much he couldnt eat his tea and though Mam skelped my ears for it I thought it were well worth the pain.
Now he said – Remember the fun we used to have when we were young together – the scrapes Id lead us into? I said – I recall the summer you worked at the mill – thinking mebbe that would pull him up short – he mustve remembered how everyone called him Gertie – but he just smiled and said – Yes indeed – more great days – remember that fifty I made against Uncle Sams Eleven? And you were a very steady bowler if I recall – do you manage to get any cricket out there?
